You and I
by thecupcakeimp
Summary: I. Such a small word, one letter, yet it carries so much power identifying. I. You never were much of a ‘you’ sort of person, were you? Too busy with ‘I’, weren’t you, Mello? MattxMello
1. Chapter 1

**You and I**

I. Such a small word, one letter, yet it carries so much power identifying. I.

You never were much of a 'you' sort of person, were you? Too busy with 'I', weren't you, Mello?

You and I.

So much meaning, those three words.

Words hold such power if we weave them together in certain patterns with certain letters connecting, splitting, separating, smoothing out a sentence. And yet some sentences can hold such little meaning. But why are some so important? We let them be.

You and I, Me and You, You and _Him._

It was always him. It was always Near. You really don't know how jealous I get, do you? Too much 'I'. I worry too much about 'You'.

I hung up the pay phone and stepped into the windy autumn streets again, glad for the long neck of my vest and a cigarette to puff on.

Where the fuck were you?

If you were off plotting meaninglessly again I'd- I'd just have to deal with it, wouldn't I?

You always do what you want.

So, what now, Mello?

What if you really did find a way to beat him? Would you forget me? As if you already hadn't.

I tugged my gloves on a little tighter and shoved my chilled hands into my pockets, along with four chocolate bars I had promised you.

We all have our addictions, don't we? Mine was by far the most commonplace. You with chocolate, me, Matt, with my cigarettes and videogames, Near with his puzzles and a bit with sweets, and L- obviously his sweets. I like sweets, I do, just not to the extent of only eating them. I like a good steak.

No, I prefer to be more self-destructive, the slightly masochistic bastard that I am. You'd have to be a masochist to love you.

You and I. It's been that way for a damned long time.

I wish we could just go back to those days, you know, the ones we'd play heroes, and you'd piss me off by making me be the 'damsel in distress' and stuff? I think I punched you over that once when we were eight. You stopped. I got bored and played video games.

I miss back then.

Do you?

Before you had to be 'number one'?

I suppose you don't- too focused with 'I'.

Near has always driven you crazy, hasn't he?

Always a step ahead of you, calm, collected, always keeping his cool.

You, you're rash, arrogant, and hasty, no matter how brilliant you are.

Me… I don't really know. I'm smart, I suppose, but I don't really have motivation. For now, my motivation is you. Well, I suppose it always has been you.

I pulled out my cell phone and called your number- but your phone was off. I decided to leave a message. A chill ran through my body as the wind swirled, an invisible tempest.

"Where the fuck are you, Mello? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago and I've been standing out in the cold freezing my ass off-"

"I'm behind you, stupid. And what ass do you have to freeze off?" you sighed from the window of the car behind me, "Get in."

I slowly walked around to the passenger seat and slid slowly inside, made myself comfortable, and then shut the door, taking my time to make you impatient. It was amusing. I passed the chocolate over, which you snatched greedily. You tore open one bar and munched on the corner, sinking into your seat, your leather clothing sliding up a bit to expose a pale stomach.

"Better now?" I asked.

"Mmm."

"I thought you might like some dark chocolate for a change-"

"Matt," you snapped, glaring at me. I liked your glare.

"What?" I asked, almost impudently.

"Shut the fucking hell up."

I shut up, shaking my head, smiling, to let you enjoy your chocolate as were stopped in the middle of the road. A few leaves got caught on the windshield wipers, and I was regaining feeling in my fingers.

You sat in silence, eating the chocolate, looking relaxed for once. You always need to chill out. Your gray eyes stared out the window, golden hair caught in the dimming autumn light- damn, I was getting 'poetic thoughts' that were disgustingly cliché. But it was true. You finished off the bar and licked your fingers. I knew you'd finish off the other bars just as quickly.

I leaned over in the seat and kissed you. Was that the first time I did? I can't remember.

You placed a hand on the gun at your hip, angry at first, but relaxed and parted your lips.

I liked your lips lightly- you tasted like the chocolate you'd just eaten. You pushed me back into my seat, still kissing, pulling up the orange tinted goggles I always wore that filtered the world into a dusky glow. It's so strange- we're caught by each other's eyes—yours so chilly, and mine a warm hazel—I think, "Why the hell do I stay with you?" I suppose I'm just as bad as you about 'number one'.

I don't want to loose you to your obsession of 'him'. He has become my rival too, and I don't even know if he needs to be. So no matter how many times you throw me against the wall and I kick the breath from your chest, we scream and threaten each other-

You know I'll always faithfully love you.

You know I will, you bastard.

There I go again, more 'I's and 'you's.

Suddenly, our breathing is far faster than I thought it was, and 'you' and 'I' are the only thing I care about. Maybe 'you' aren't 'his' after all. I'm yours. That's all that really matters.

"Matt," you say breathlessly, pressing me against the seat of your car. I can smell the leather of your shirt, ever so easily, like I can still taste the chocolate of your lips, the feeling of them still leaving my lips tingling.

"Hm?" I respond, searching your icy eyes.

"You have clearly forgotten that we're in the middle of a street, a 'no parking' zone, my car is running, and it's broad daylight. Now fucking buckle up. That would've gone longer if it hadn't been day. Bitch," you say roughly and move back into yours as though nothing had occurred.

That… that was not fair. At all. You know it wasn't.

So I was forcefully crash landed back here, pulled out my PSP as we drove home and lit a cigarette, goggle still hanging around my neck. Smiling. 'I' wouldn't lose 'you' to 'him'.


	2. Chapter 2

**You and I, Chapter Two  
**

Twenty minutes—and three more chocolate bars later—we were back at my house. It was small, nearly a part of the house next to it. It was old, smelled like cat, and of course, hot pockets. Glorious gamer food. Ham and cheese hot pockets and pink lemonade. Life couldn't be better.

"You've been quiet," I said, reaching into the fridge to pour myself some pink lemonade.

"I'm thinking, Matt, so shut the fuck up," you said, though rather lazily, as though you didn't want to put the effort into bitching me out.

"'Bout what?" I took a long gulp of lemonade and soon after a long drag on my cigarette.

"Kira."

"Sure. You're thinking about how to get to Kira _first. _It's not really about the rest of the world, is it?" I muttered, lifting my goggles back to my eyes. You leaned on the door frame, your eyes kindling fury, "It's the truth," I stated.

"Wrong. Whatever Kira is using to kill people isn't somethin' that people should just have," you hissed. Lies. I knew you were intrigued.

"Yeah, sure, Mello. You're not eating a lot. You do that when-"

"Shut the hell up, Matt!" you shouted, fists clenched, shoulders raised like an angry cat.

"Or what, you'll shoot me?" I challenged, "You don't really need me anyway!" I set the lemonade down, threw my cigarette in an ashtray, glaring.

"Oh, now because I didn't fuck you in the road you're throwing a hissy fit?" you snickered, "You know exactly what I've said before!"

"You can't care because you're gonna die! Well, isn't that what life is about? Or are you a coward? Afraid that life might say 'fuck you' to me first and drag me into Hell before you?" I shouted back at you.

You leaped forward, swinging a fist that connected solidly with the left side of my face. When I regained my balance I glared at you.

"So you are a coward!" With that I swung my own fist at you. You always were a better fighter than me, but I didn't care. You caught my fist, wrenching it sideways and I kicked you hard in your side. You coughed and sent yourself at me again, this time knocking me down to the linoleum tile floor.

You punched me and my goggles flew off—you'd broken them before—and they slid across the floor. I felt blood drip down the side of my face from my forehead. You punched me again- now my lip was bleeding.

You knelt over me, panting, eyes full of hurt, still trying to get air into your lungs again.

But that's what I'm here for.

"I'm-" you started, but I wasn't going to let you finish.

"Don't apologize," I muttered, raising a hand to my forehead, wincing when I touched the mess under my fingers. I'd probably bruise pretty badly this time. You looked away. "We meant what we said."

"I don't care about him, Matt. I hate him. You know that."

"Mello, I know," I said, blood trickling down my face still, "But it-"

"Yeah, we're complicated," you said and cut off anything I was going to say with a kiss to my bloodied lips. I winced- you weren't exactly being gentle. It didn't matter.

Perhaps that's my favorite thing about life- it just goes on.

"Don't. Apologize," I said firmly as you opened your mouth to speak. I got up, shoving you off to go take care of the blood on my face.

I went to the bathroom and wiped crimson away from my pale skin. I knew there was probably blood in my hair- yes, you could barely tell. It was just barely matting my hair, but I simply brushed it. My hair was just as red as the blood. It didn't matter.


	3. Chapter 3

**You and I**

Months later, I was watching some of the members of 'your' mafia (you fairly owned them), making sure they didn't do anything rash or out of line. You couldn't risk them getting killed by Kira. I took a drag on my cigarette. I was cutting down. It was driving me insane. But I was doing better. I rapidly pressed the A and B buttons, guiding my character, battling. Pause. Bite of Hot Pocket. Glance over the five screens. Play. Repeat.

Four hours.

My eyes were drooping, the DS was off, and my cigarette was gone. I was tired. My hands were shaking slightly. I'd been up for five days in a row. Just as I laid my head down to give in to sleep-

_Bang._

Some few streets away you had finished your job. Had someone finished you?

I got up and darted to the window, my breath fogging it up. It was December. I wiped it away and- there. I spotted your golden hair. I sat back down, reassured. Did you know how nervous I had been? I heard the door unlock and open, your tired footsteps ascending the stairs, and finally, you opened the door to the room. You strode across the room and flopped unceremoniously onto the rarely used couch I was leaning my back against.

"So… how'd it go?" I asked, taking a swig of my third pink lemonade that day.

"Mmm's okay," you groaned, running a hand through your hair, the scar across your face painfully visible in the glow of the computer. It spread down to your pale, slim shoulders, your thin exhausted frame spattered with blood. It wasn't yours, I hoped.

"What took you so damned long?" I asked.

"I dunno."

"_Great_ excuse Mello. I've been sitting in the same godforsaken spot for the past four hours for you! Every day for a week! While you were gallivanting about shooting people!" I said, my voice rising slightly. I thought you would have learned when your pretty face got burned.

Suddenly, you smirked.

"Worried? You were worried about me?" you said, almost scoffing.

"Gunshots, Mel! I heard gunshots! Of course I was!" I shouted, standing up again. You stood up, but slower, after I did.

"Yeah, 'cause I was doing what I needed to," you said, eyes narrowed.

"For God's sake, Mello, can't I care about you? I thought it was just that you couldn't care about me-"

"No, I've already told you be-"

Before you could finish my fist hit your pretty, scarred face, forcing you to take a step back.

"You think I'm actually going to listen to your bullshit again?" I shouted, "I don't want to hear it!" You looked stunned. I had thrown the first punch. I stepped forward and punched you again, my fist connecting with your jaw. You recovered quickly, grabbing my arm and _twisting. _I hissed and hooked my foot behind your knee, bringing both of us crashing to the dirty carpet that already had bloodstains on it.

We lay there for a moment, panting.

"Mello, you know I love you. You're not gonna be able to change that," I muttered, looking away.

"I know. I hate you for it sometimes, but I love you all the same," you said, almost calmly.

"You're going to get yourself killed sometime."

"We live in a city of devils, don't we?"

"Yeah, I said, smirking slightly, "Mello, I-"

You cut me off, kissing me with the mouth I'd bloodied, your sweet lips against mine.

"It's pretty hard to find angels in Hell."

"If this is your definition of Hell, you're a mile off."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Hell is when you dive half way across a continent with no cigarettes, your batteries dead in your DS, while you're forty-five minutes late with a dead cell phone."

"Sorry about that, Matty…"

"Don't call me Matty."

"Why not?"

"It sounds… fluffy."

"You call me pretty."

"That's different, you are…"

"Well what if you're like my puppy?"

Honestly. I wasn't _that_ cute.

"No," I growled, rolling my eyes and you smirked. I traced the edge of your scar and you flinched. "Why won't you tell me what happened- exactly? I took care of you that whole time…"

"I made a mistake," you said, averting your eyes. I tugged my goggles off, sighing. There were a few pale scars there too from getting them punched off, but they were fading. You hate making mistakes. You're too proud.

"You're human, Mello, just like the rest of us…" I said quietly.

"That was one mistake that shouldn't have ever been made," you said, your voice distant and cold. I knew you could see the flames as they ravaged the church around you.

Maybe it was me that didn't belong. I only just understand you- but perhaps I'm the only one who understands that bit of you at all.

So here we are again, 'You and I'. Two souls desperate to be cared for, 'you', like a cautious wild animal, and 'I', the one who cared for it hoping for something in return. Recognition? I didn't know.

"I-"

"No, don't be sorry- my mistakes aren't your fault," you said and kissed me roughly again, pulling yourself on top of me. You watched my hazel eyes for a brief moment before leaning down to kiss my neck. You bit down hard, making my breath catch in my chest.

"Mm, you like that Matty?"

"M'not Matty," I said, leaning my head back more.

"What was that?" you smirked, your voice smooth. You reached into my hair, pulling it hard. I held still as you bet me again, gently sucking until you had made a mark. I knew you liked to do that, mark me as yours. You had tattooed a small M on the back of my shoulder blade yourself as a testament to that. Being the masochist I am, I didn't care.

"M'not Matty- ah!" I gasped as you tore the skin you had been sucking on with your canine tooth. You liked the thin line of blood, and then leaned up to kiss me again. Blood and chocolate- that really is all 'you' are. "M'not…"

"Just like I'm not pretty," you smirked, leaning back a little.

"You are- your hair is soft, you're strong, and your eyes-"

"That's what you think."

"I… get your point. You're still pretty."

"And you're still cute. You better get my point, otherwise you might… get punished." I rolled my eyes- and got my hair yanked again for it.

As you leaned down to lick the thin trail of blood from my neck you slowly, agonizingly, pulled down the zipper of the vest I wore. I leaned up a little so you could pull it off. I squirmed, trying to get it off faster, but I found a knife at my throat.

"Oh, no, you've gotta be patient," you smirked, whispering in my ear before nibbling the lobe.

Damn. You were such a _tease_.

And you had such fun being one.

The cold steel never left my throat as you slid your other hand up my black and white striped shirt, dragging your nails up my skin. I shivered- I knew a thin line of blood had appeared at my neck, like a painter had taken a brush and streaked my portrait with a detail brush of crimson. The knife left my neck and you swiftly pulled my shirt off to lick my collarbone.

I tugged down the zipper of your leather shirt and it was smoothly shrugged to the ground, leaning back down for a heated, hungry kiss. I parted my lips and your tongue slowly rubbed against mine, the very tip of your knife tracing abstract designs on my chest, not quite drawing blood. I hissed when it did, leaving tiny thin lines.

You threw the knife off to the side and I took the opportunity to side my arms around you, pulling you down onto me. You shuddered as I ran my hands through your hair and down your back with feather light touches.

You still tasted of blood and chocolate.

Once again you slid down a little to lick my collarbone, dragging your teeth along it.

It's so strange. 'You' and 'I' don't quite belong anywhere. Just like the others like us, but we can always find solace in one another.

Your fingers drifted down to tug impatiently at my pants and I chuckled.

"No, you've gotta be patient," I said, mockingly. You growled and bit my shoulder, pulling them down anyway. I kicked them over somewhere else on the floor by wherever the rest of the clothes had ended up. I smirked, waiting as you pulled yours off, leaving the leather off to the side to not worry about them anymore. A cross hung on a chain on your neck, a few images cast into the stainless steel. My smirk softened into a smile. Of all the people in the world to be a 'believer' I never would have expected you.

"So, is this why you're so keen on killing Kira?" I asked, reaching up to hold the cross, curiously. Kira wasn't supposed to be God, right?

"Mhmm," you said and kissed me again, this time with a sweeter undertone.

You were my angel in Hell.

I smiled and reached around you, pulling you down onto me. You shuddered, moaning lightly as I did at the feeling of so much contact, so much skin pressing against skin. Our hearts pounded.

Suddenly you reached around, between us and I gasped loudly as you teased my ass, and pressed the tip of your finger in. I hissed, my hips jerking as you slid the rest in. You paused a moment, waiting for me to adjust before sliding a second finger in. I thought you had forgotten lube- you had- and were using your own spit. Well… it worked. You scissored your fingers a few times before pressing deeper.

A low, throaty moan rose from my lips. We adjusted slightly, you pulling your fingers from me, and I leaned down to lick the pre-come from the tip of your cock. You gasped as I took your whole length into my mouth, coating it well with my own saliva. You yanked me back by my hair.

All in the blue-white glow of the computer screens.

You shoved me back down to the ground, pressing in, both of us clinging to one another, letting our breathing escalate.

You started moving your hips, digging your nails into my shoulders. You moved faster, going deeper inside of me, tearing moans from both us- blood still streaked my neck.

Faster, deeper, harder, more.

You stroked me in time to your thrusts as I held your shoulders tightly.

Finally, I let release wash over me, sparks flitting before my eyes, crying out as I came between our stomachs. You did shortly after, biting my shoulder to muffle your own cry. We rode it out until we simply laid there, satisfied, exhausting, panting. You pulled out and rolled off of me. I pulled myself against you, sighing well- contented.

Perhaps you didn't stay here just because we were friends at Whammy's House, because I knew computers better than anyone else. If you wanted to, you could have a whole team to boss around and do my job for you, but you always came back.

"Matt?" you said, sounding so much more relaxed than you had in a long time.

"Hm?" I looked over into your eyes and you smiled.

"I love you," you said simply, leaning your forehead against mine.

"I love you too, Mello," I SAID.

"We should probably clean up."

"Yeah."

We reluctantly stood, and you slapped my ass.

"What the hell was _that_?" I snapped.

"You're my _bitch_ Matty."

Maybe it was just for the awesome sex.

No, Now there wasn't exactly a 'You and 'I'. It was 'us' and 'we'. Perhaps 'we' had been 'us' for longer than 'we' thought.

But… I never really worried too much about pronouns.


End file.
